


just a sign

by phyripo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gen, Platonic Soulmates, Spitefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyripo/pseuds/phyripo
Summary: Noah is curious about who his soulmate will be, just like everyone else, but what can he do if the love of his life doesn’t match the name written on his skin?





	just a sign

**Author's Note:**

> I love how 'spitefic' is a tag. But anyway I _hate_ soulmate AUs so I... Wrote a soulmate AU, obviously. It's not as much as a trope subversion as I would like, but it's still a bit of one, and at least somewhat of an exploration?? I have a more extensive, way creepier soulmate AU subversion story floating around in my mind but I’m not sure I’ll ever write it.
> 
> The title is from the Poets of the Fall song Love Will Come To You, which is surprisingly fitting!
> 
> FEATURING  
> Luxembourg - Noah  
> Seychelles - Angélique  
> Romania - Dragos  
> Bulgaria - Stefan  
> Portugal - Simão  
> Czechia - Kveta  
> Moldova - Luca  
> Liechtenstein - Erika  
> Thailand - Niran  
> Vietnam - Vinh  
> France - Francis  
> Netherlands - Maarten  
> Belgium - Manon

The first thing Noah learns to read is the name inscribed on his left wrist, just like all of his preschool classmates.

Before everyone starts covering their marks up as is expected, two of the kids find that they match. At the time, this seems no more than natural to Noah—surely, your soulmate will be your  _very best friend_  throughout your whole life—but it is, he discovers later, in fact extremely rare. Over the years, he finds plenty of stories in books and films and songs in which soulmates meet as children but don’t realize so until years later, looking through old photographs or such.

The name on Noah’s wrist is written in tiny, neat longhand that he tries to emulate as a child, but his loops are always far too swirly and his Ts too long. His mother fondly refers to his handwriting as having a ‘flourish’, which he rejects for years but eventually embraces.

As he grows up, Noah’s best friend is a boy from his class, Dragos, whose mark, which he illicitly shows Noah while Noah tugs his own wristguard off to return the gesture, is written in a different script than the one they’re used to. After some research when they’re about twelve, it turns out it’s Cyrillic, and the two of them spin wild stories about the bear-fighting Russian guy it’ll point to.

Dragos is the first person Noah falls in love with. He likes Noah a lot too, and doesn’t mind waiting for his Russian soulmate for a bit.

“I’m only fourteen,” he says, face solemn like he’s making some grand statement, and Noah laughs at that. Dragos is good at making him laugh.

There  _are_  people who ‘save themselves’ for when they meet their soulmate, but Noah’s parents don’t believe in things like that and have taught him to do what he wants as long as he’s safe and happy.

“Even fated relationships can fail,” his father tells him. “Besides, some experience can’t hurt for when you do meet your match, hm?”

And when that sinks in, Noah isn’t able to look him in the eye for a full week, which both his parents think is hilarious.

It never gets quite that far with Dragos anyway, because in the summer after they both turn sixteen, they get temporary jobs picking fruit, and their supervisor, a man in his early twenties, introduces himself as Stefan in a thick Eastern European accent, and Dragos panics so much that he keeps using his brother’s name instead of his own the whole time they’re there.

Their relationship fizzles back to friendship in a natural way in the wake of that summer. Dragos spends the last years of school flipping back and forth between regretting his decision with regards to Stefan and telling Noah the guy wasn’t even remotely his type and  _far_  too old besides. What would his  _parents_  think?

“Listen,” Noah tells him after their final exams; it’s been two years since that summer, “Dragos, you’re my best friend and I care a lot about you, but you need to get over it somehow or do something about it, and if you think I wouldn’t drag you across all of Russia to find the guy, you’d be mistaken.”

And Dragos looks at Noah with rust-brown eyes wide, almost fearful, bites his lip, snaps his wristguard against his mark— _Стефан_ —and nods.

They don’t need to go to Russia, because the guy turns out to be Bulgarian and living two cities over besides. He seems torn between being glad and indignant that Dragos didn’t tell him his actual name back then, and more than a little weirded out by the age thing.

Still, he agrees to hang out with Dragos sometime during the summer, and the way he clasps his left wrist is clear enough. Noah imagines the name  _Dragos_  scrawled on his pale skin in those huge, almost theatrical letters his friend likes to use when he wants to annoy their teachers, and smiles.

It’s alright.

It’s actually quite rare to meet one’s match so early in life, so Noah isn’t worried when he doesn’t meet his own all throughout university.

He does date some people.

Simão, whom he gets into an argument with about something inconsequential that turns into a bit of an existential/soulmark-related crisis and then into a breakup; Kveta, who drinks more than he does, which is impressive especially during those years, and who takes Simão’s side when he shows up one day and then  _turns out to be his soulmate_ , what the hell; there’s an ill-advised thing with Dragos’s younger brother, Luca, who’s a great guy, all things considered, but Noah keeps thinking about the times he helped Dragos babysit him and that’s just weird; and Erika, who’s lovely, but maybe too much so for Noah.

When he finishes his journalism study, he’s offered a job right away at the national newspaper where he interned. Well aware of how much a lucky break that is, he eagerly accepts.

His boss, the editor-in-chief, is the first person Noah meets who doesn’t have a soulmark and is open about it. The man doesn’t wear a wristguard and cheerfully tells people he’s happy he doesn’t feel like he has to limit his love to one person.

Noah is almost jealous. He has always known that not everyone has a mark, but people are often ashamed of it, and also shamed for it. Noah has always thought those people should be pitied, has been taught that, even if only subconsciously, but Niran is a great guy who’d never accept pity from anyone.

“Do you think anyone is marked with your name?” Noah asks him one day, when he’s been working under him for a few years. He doesn’t know how one-sided soulmates would work at all, but the world is strange. Niran grins.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

It turns out he’s wrong, of course, and even if she isn’t his soulmate as such—his soul is spread out all over, he says—Niran obviously loves Vinh with everything he’s got, and Noah is happy for them.

Still, he doesn’t meet the person whose name is branded into his mind as well as on his skin.

He does, however, meet Angélique Verlaque, at Dragos’s wedding of all places.

She comes with Luca, an aspiring cook like him, and has matched both her wristguard and her summer dress to his sky-blue tie for the occasion. Noah knows for a fact Luca does not have the name  _Angélique_ inscribed on his wrist, and Luca knows that Noah doesn’t either, but he notices him watching her and tells him that he asked her here as a friend.

“Did you?” Noah asks faintly, pushing his hair back from his warm face out of habit—he’s taken to wearing it slicked back recently, but is still used to having it cover half his face like it did for years. “Does she know that?”

“She’s aware,” Luca replies, with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Just thought you’d like to know, maybe.”

He flounces off with a spring in his step, and Noah chuckles. He’s got more in common with Dragos than he realizes.

After quickly downing his drink, he approaches Angélique to ask her to dance. Before he loses his nerve.

She has a beautiful laugh, a melodious one that lights up her whole face, with dimples appearing amid the freckles scattered across her skin and dark eyes glittering. She’s a clumsy dancer, but at least she dances with Noah, swinging the fabric of her dress against his thighs and putting her hands on his chest when he holds her waist. She says yes when he asks her on a date.

Angélique is the second person Noah falls in love with, and it feels much more momentous than the first time it happened.

“Well, of course it does,” Dragos says. “We were _fourteen_.”

Which is entirely fair, Noah supposes.

It feels like the other shoe dropping in a way when, a year and a bit into their relationship, Angélique asks about his soulmark.

“I… I don’t think that it’s me, am I right?”

He nods, chewing on his lip, and hold his left arm out to her, wrist turned up. She looks between his arm and his face a few times, questioning, then takes his trembling hand with her small, clever fingers and slides his wristguard off. His skin is even paler there, and the contrast is stark with Angélique’s warm brown skin when she puts her thumb over the black letters. The script is small enough that it’s entirely covered.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me,” she says, eyes darting everywhere. Noah swallows. At the moment, he can’t imagine  _not_  wanting her.

“What about you?” he just asks.

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, pushes some stray curls out of her face, and then yanks her wristguard—this one yellow to match today’s dress—off with her teeth.

Her wrist is blank.

“Oh,” Noah breathes. He’s entirely unsure how to feel, so he settles for relieved and blurts, “I love you.”

She snaps her gaze up to him, her eyes somehow darker than usual, the emotions in them unfamiliar and shimmering just below the surface. Noah doesn’t care if it’s not done to say things like that to people who aren’t your family or your soulmate; he does love her, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to let her know.

“I love you too,” she whispers, and neither of them comment on the quiet tears streaking down her face when she pulls him down so she can kiss him, mostly because Noah can feel some of his own slide down his cheeks as well.

His parents are a bit skeptical when he and Angélique decide to move in together, because for all that they advocate experimenting and discovering yourself, he can tell they’re waiting for him to find his soulmate like they did. He’s nearing thirty now; his former classmates from high school and university are meeting their matches left and right.

But some people don’t meet their match until they’re fifty, seventy, eighty, so where’s the point in waiting around?

With that in mind, he asks Angélique to marry him. She says yes without a second’s hesitation. The elation Noah feels is comparable to  _nothing_ , and he doesn’t care what his parents say about that. They can see that they’re happy together.

It’s quite a hassle to find someone who’ll marry them despite their non-matching marks, which Noah thinks is ridiculous and he writes a scathing column about that causes a minor uproar among the board of directors of the newspaper and nearly gets him fired until Niran speaks up in his favor.

Several people try to talk Noah out of his engagement when they find out that his soulmark spells out something not even  _close_  to Angélique, but that just strengthens his resolve. He will not let his life be dictated by a word on his wrist, let alone who he chooses to love.

They are married, eventually, by an old friend of Angélique’s who’s been writing pamphlets about freedom of love and has gotten himself banned from several institutions. Noah would love to interview him, but Niran tells him to lie low for a while, and he doesn’t actually want to lose his job, so he files that plan away for use at a later date, maybe. Angélique thinks it’s endearing and possibly quite hilarious how passionate he gets about the whole thing.

“All for you, Ange,” he says. And, when she gives him a look that’s half amused and half unimpressed, “Well, because of you, anyway.”

On his thirty-fourth birthday, when they’ve been married for a year and a half, Noah comes home to a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and an unexpected announcement from Angélique.

“I met your soulmate,” she says, and he finds it difficult to read her expression. He finds it difficult to read his own reaction as well.

“You  _what_?” he just blurts. Angélique laughs nervously and repeats herself.

“I… Look at this.” She pulls a crumpled piece of paper put of the pocket of her skirt. “I had to go back to the flower shop for that bouquet because there was – something about the flowers, I don’t know, and the man who helped me wrote his name on the receipt.”

Noah smoothes it out with trembling fingers, and there it is at the bottom of the receipt in that neat script he’s known for so long.

 _Maarten_.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He wasn’t expecting this, hasn’t consciously thought about his mark in ages, and then his wife meets the guy. His  _wife_ , whom he loves with all his heart and who apparently isn’t meant for him according to the universe or something.

“Noah,” Angélique is saying, “I think you should go see him.”

“No,” he says. “No, I don’t want to. This is bullshit, Ange. I don’t need the universe to tell me who to love, and—”

“He had your eyes,” she interrupts.

“What?”

She tugs at a curly strand of hair, leaning against the kitchen counter that the flowers are on.

“He looked like you, Noah.”

“Like me how?” he asks frantically. None of this makes sense.

“You know, all tall and pale and…” Her eyebrows furrow, and she gestures at nothing in particular. “His hair was ashier, I guess, but he had the same eyes, definitely.”

Noah blinks.

“I think you should go see him,” she repeats, and he can only nod dumbly.

First, he goes to visit his parents. He doesn’t tell them that Angélique met his soulmate, although the mark feels like it’s burning through his wristguard, but he asks if they have any information at all about his biological family, and gets pretty much nothing.

“I’m very sorry, honey,” his mother says. “You were left at the hospital with just a name, and nothing else.”

“So I might…” The half-formed thought that has been hovering around in Noah’s mind since Angélique described the man from the flower shop pushes itself forward. “I might have siblings?”

“You might, but we just don’t know.”

Noah feels like he does know, and goes to the flower shop.

There is a man behind the counter, half-hidden among the flowers, working on something with his body half turned away from the shop, so Noah can observe him for a while. His hair is spiked up severely, and definitely ashier than his own, like Angélique had said, and his nose is straight and pointed, unlike Noah’s, which is upturned, but when the man looks up at him, he has to agree with her. He looks like him. He wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t said, but there it is.

“Can I help you?” the man asks, his voice deeper than expected. His eyebrows have the same shape as Noah’s, although the right one is disrupted at the highest point of its pronounced arch by a thin scar running along the edge of his forehead.

“I’m—looking for Maarten,” Noah chokes out.

“That’s me.”

Noah has no idea what to say to him. ‘ _I think you’re my soulmate’_  seems like too much of a non-sequitur, somehow.

“My wife recently bought a bouquet here,” he says instead, cautiously shuffling further into the shop as if  _Maarten_ , his damn soulmate, will attack him. The man just looks bemused at the moment.

“Was it not according to her wishes?” he asks.

“No, it was lovely.” Noah is close enough to the counter now that he can touch it. Maarten is taller than he is, and not many people are. He must be about forty, although there are lines around his eyes that suggest a weariness beyond that age. “I just had a question.”

They stand in silence for a long moment, Maarten raising his eyebrows and Noah fumbling nervously with his wristguard.

“Oh, damn it,” he eventually says, and snaps the thing off, shoving his wrist up into Maarten’s face. It’s shaking so much that the man has to gently cup his elbow to be able to read the word written there in his own handwriting, and then his brow furrows, the already sparse color draining from his face.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he says. “That makes no sense. You can’t be— What’s your name?”

“Noah,” he says, and he’s barely finished speaking when Maarten is waving his own soulmark in Noah’s face.

Where he expected to find  _Noah_  with a flourish, he instead reads  _Manon_  in kind, rounded letters, and he sags against the counter of the flower shop.

What the hell?

Maarten, it turns out, was raised by a succession of foster families, and from what Noah gathers from his sparse information, some of them were not nice places at all. The man—he  _has_  to be Noah’s brother—is not forthcoming with details, but Noah can’t fault him for that. They barely know each other, after all.

And then there’s the matter of Maarten not being  _Noah’s_  soulmate, which is somehow more disconcerting than the fact that they’re  _brothers_  and Noah has never heard about anything like that happening before. Not, at least, until he calls Angélique’s old friend, Francis, back in, and he goes on and on about the research he’s done into soulmarks.

“What they mean is culture-bound,” he explains, which Noah feels is the crux of it. “There are many cultures, although they are becoming rarer due to westernization, that emphasize the non-romantic aspect of the bond of a soul with another.”

Angélique asks, “Doesn’t that mean that a lot of people are forcing themselves into romantic relationships when maybe they’re not even suitable in that way?” and Francis gives her a helpless look.

Noah’s parents, when he finally gathers up the courage to tell them what’s going on, are more than happy to meet Maarten, who is initially wary but warms up to them quicker than Noah feels is the norm for him. They’ve never heard about soulmates not being romantic either, but it’s unmistakable that Noah and Maarten are related, really, and that cannot have been the universe’s intention, so they have to accept it.

“So that name on Maarten’s soulmark, then,” Angélique says one evening, into the dark of their bedroom, her hair spread out across Noah’s chest, “do you think that means there’s a third sibling?”

She doesn’t know what the name is, just that it isn’t  _Noah_.

“It could be,” Noah replies. “There’s enough space between me and Maarten for her to be a middle child, even.”

“A woman?” She smiles against his skin; he can feel her cheek dimple. “Good. I’d like for our baby to have an aunt.”

“Yeah,” Noah says. And then, sitting bolt upright, “Our  _what_? Ange—”

She’s pregnant, and it’s half-planned but  _very_  welcome, especially now that everyone who matters knows that there isn’t someone else waiting round the corner for Noah who fits with him better. He loves Angélique, and he’s sure he’ll grow to love Maarten, in due time. They have the same sort of dry humor that even Angélique doesn’t fully understand, and have curiously developed a similar outlook on life despite their vastly different upbringings. Maarten, in a way, feels like  _home_. It’s strange how not-strange it feels.

“We have to find her, right?” he asks Noah on a Friday afternoon over coffee, as has quickly become a regular thing for them to do. “Manon?”

Noah bites his lip. “She might not even be our sister, you know. Maybe you and her are just… Regular soulmates.”

His brother chuckles drily. “I hope not. I’ve not once in my life been attracted to a woman, and she’d undoubtedly expect me to be.”

“Show her Francis’s pamphlets.”

“Francis scares me.”

“Well…” Noah tilts his head. “Yes, understandable.”

Still, they do both want to find the mysterious Manon, who writes, according to both of them, like a teacher of some sort, but that doesn’t really narrow anything down and might not even be relevant at all. And Noah gets busy with other things, anyway, preparing to be a father while he tries to help his wife out as much as she’ll let him. Angélique is stubborn as always, though. It amuses Maarten to no end.

“You’re going to be a terrible enabler of an uncle, aren’t you?” Noah complains.

“Of course.” There’s a strange smile on Maarten’s face, and he’s running his fingers along the scar on his forehead. “None of my foster siblings ever stuck around. I never thought…”

Noah does love him, he realizes. He gets closed off at times, and evidently, things have happened in his life that he isn’t proud of—that Noah wishes he could have helped him through—but he seems to have come out stronger and aware of his luck. Noah admires that.

In the summer, Noah and Angélique have a daughter, a beautiful baby girl with a shock of dark curls like her mother, but labor is hard on Angélique, so they stay in hospital for a day or two. Maarten visits, among other people.

“What’s her name?” he asks, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the baby in the bedside cot, much like Noah himself. He hopes, somewhere, that she has his eyes like Maarten does, bright green. They’re sort of murky grey now, but he has realized it is incredible to know someone whose eyes reflect yours. He never did before he met Maarten.

“I proposed Manon, but Ange wouldn’t hear it,” he says jokingly.

“I don’t even want to risk it,” Angélique comments from her bed now. “We don’t need your brother imprinting on our daughter or something.”

“ _Imprinting_ —” Maarten splutters indignantly, while Angélique laughs.

A nurse sidles into the room, shooting a smile at them. She picks up the chart belonging to Noah’s daughter.

“Oh,” she says, “no one has written her name down yet. What shall I put?”

Noah shares a smile with Angélique.

“Laura,” he replies.

“That is a beautiful name.” She turns the chart his way so he can see what she’s written. “Like so?”

He nods, smiling widely, and the nurse puts the chart back, checks on everything, and is off again.

“I agree,” says Maarten. “It’s a beautiful name.”

Noah wonders if he’s imagining it scrawled on someone’s wrist like he has been doing. He isn’t sure how to feel about the thought, but he’ll make damn sure he teaches Laura everything he can about the meaning of soulmarks, no matter if she has one or not.

It takes some time to find a new routine with the baby girl in their lives, but they manage, with help from friends and family. Noah doesn’t think about his brother’s soulmark at all for a long while, and he doesn’t think Maarten himself does either, far too preoccupied with feeding and changing and rocking to sleep. One day, he finally finds the time to unpack the papers they’ve got from the hospital, including the chart where the nurse was the first person to write down his daughter’s name.

 _Laura Krier_ , it says in rounded letters, and he lingers on that, then wants to put it away in a folder with the other papers when the signature at the bottom catches his eye, and he almost drops the paper.

Is this how Angélique felt when she received that receipt from Maarten, two years ago now? Because there it is, at the bottom of the page.  _Verified by: Manon Leclercq._  Noah may not be as intimately familiar with Maarten’s soulmark as with his own, but it’s unmistakable.

He calls Maarten, and they rush to the hospital as if they’ve got an emergency—nearly cause an accident that would actually make them have one.

“This is so stupid,” Maarten keeps saying. “We agree that the whole soulmark thing is bullshit and yet we’re letting ourselves be led by it.”

“We’d never have known we were brothers without the marks,” Noah replies. “You’d just have been the man who sold Ange flowers. Besides, for some people, it really does work that way.” He thinks of Dragos and Stefan, of his parents, even Kveta and Simão, who may be a fiery couple bordering on volatile, but they seem happy; that’s just the sort of people they are.

The receptionist at the hospital tells them, looking bewildered, that they just missed Manon, but they might be able to catch her in the parking lot, and they rush out, finding her opening the door of a tiny yellow car.

“Manon? Are you Manon Leclercq?” Noah shouts her way, and she looks up. Her hair is out of the ponytail she had in when Noah saw her last, and it curls around her face in a darker shade than either of theirs. Her expression is bemused.

“Mr Krier, isn’t it?”

“That’s me.” Noah has to catch his breath for a few seconds. “ _Noah_  Krier.”

Manon blanches, closing her eyes and leaning against the once again closed of the yellow car.

“Why are—” She presses her lips together and looks between him and Maarten. “I don’t— If this is about what I think it is… You’re  _married_ , Noah. You have a child. I don’t want to—”

“You don’t have to, you don’t have to,” he interrupts frantically. Manon has the same eyes as both him and Maarten, too, and faint freckles like Noah gets during the summer, scattered across a nose with the same shape as his own.

“He’s right,” Maarten says. He is studying Manon as well, but when she looks up at him, shaking her thick hair out of her face brusquely, he slides his wristguard off and shows her his mark. After a second’s hesitation, she looks, and then she is silent for a long while, her lips moving soundlessly as if she’s praying to someone.

“My name is Maarten van Rijn,” Maarten eventually says. “Noah is my brother.”

“Your brother,” she echoes. She’s clasping her left wrist. “Did you two… I don’t want to be insensitive, but were you raised by your biological parents?”

Both of them shake their head. Manon swallows visibly, brow furrowing. It would have no doubt felt like a betrayal if Noah and Maarten were raised by their biological family, and she was cast out for whatever reason.

“We didn’t even know each other until…” Noah slides his own wristguard off and turns his arm towards her, and her gaze slides from the name there to Maarten, and back, and then she swears under her breath, pushing both hands into her hair.

“I thought… God, I did see your first name on the files when your daughter was born, but I immediately dismissed the possibility. Noah is a common name, and you were married, and even if it  _were_  you, I wouldn’t have wanted…” She sighs, looks at Noah. “But it  _is_  you, isn’t it?”

And there it is, on the pale wrist held out to him, the word he’s been expecting on a man’s arm for the largest part of his life.  _Noah_ , with a flourish.

“Who’d have thought?” Manon says faintly.

And so Noah has gained two older siblings.  _And_ , it turns out, with Manon comes not only a set of loving adoptive parents who immediately start making noises about including Maarten, who seems to have gotten the short end of the upbringing stick, in their will, but also a set of cats  _and_  a  _son_  who’s seven years old and takes amazingly to both Maarten and Noah as well as Laura and Angélique.

“There was no telling how long I’d have to wait for this mysterious Noah,” Manon explains, “and I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I figured my soulmate would have to accept it. His father is my best friend—he married his own soulmate two years ago.”

“Well, here I am,” Noah says, waving Laura’s little arms around until she laughs uproariously.

“There you are,” Manon agrees, smiling warmly.

The three of them agree that they have no desire to find out who their biological parents are—Maarten and Manon were left with no further identification just like Noah, but both at different hospitals, which is probably why no one made the link between them.

Angélique and Manon get on like a house on fire. It’s almost scary, but Noah is happy about it as well. Mainly. They’re both horribly indulgent aunts but strict mothers, and Maarten keeps throwing helpless looks Noah’s way whenever they manage to corner him again. It happens quite often.

Niran finally lets Noah interview Francis, and it generates enough of a buzz among their readers that he can write about the odd experience he and his siblings have had with their soulmarks. Noah doesn’t imagine he has enough of an influence to sway the general opinion about the meaning of soulmarks, but he thinks, if just one person recognizes that there’s more to it than romance, that’ll have been worth it.

There’s some truth to it, after all. He never imagined he’d want to know anything about his biological family, but in some way, he’s happier with Maarten and Manon than he was without them.

Maybe the first word Laura learns to read will be her sister’s name.

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr](http://phyripowritesthings.tumblr.com/post/173998557860/this-soulmate-au-is-brought-to-you-by-my-hatred) from when I first wrote it :')
> 
> Please someone,, ship portczech with me it makes no sense and I love it


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